When Trickery Leads to (Totally Not Scandalous) Cuddling
by Dawnstorm101
Summary: While on their field trip to Europe, Peter and MJ are tricked into staying in a hotel room with only one bed, and of course that's when Peter has one of his most dreaded recurring nightmares.


A/N: So I mentioned this on Tumblr in response to an ask game about fanfic tropes, and someone asked for the actual fic, so I wrote it! I'm not very confident with MJ's POV tho, so I hope I did ok. Enjoy!

* * *

"We are so out past curfew," Peter whispered.

They crouched in front of the hotel, peeking over the bottom edge of the window beside the door. A sleepy man leaned on the front desk, but his glazed eyes didn't exactly scream _I'm gonna tell on the first teenager to walk through that door_. "We'll be fine," MJ whispered back. "Come on."

Straightening up, she strolled through the lobby like she had nothing to worry about. Peter did a worse job of hiding his nerves, scurrying after her, but the guy never even blinked. MJ wasn't entirely sure he was alive. But eh, that wasn't her problem.

She peered down the hallway with their rooms, but there were no chaperones watching out for the duo who had stayed out too long. They hadn't mean to obliterate curfew, but it had been a fun night, exploring the city, just walking and talking beneath the stars, all of Peter's attention on her and her alone.

_Sheesh, Jones, when did you become a romantic?_

Giving herself a mental shake, she led the way down the hallway, careful not to make the wooden boards beneath their feet creak. Peter stumbled once, and she scrambled to steady him – if they were caught, they could say goodbye to any sort of freedom for the rest of the trip. They held hands after that, keeping each other balanced. And his was so soft, so warm, so steady…

_Jones!_

With a flutter of mingled relief and disappointment, she reached the door to her room. Except there was a note on it, a pale little sticky note that brushed her hand when she went for the handle. In Betty's handwriting, it read: _Stay in Peter's room, MJ. Ned and I are hanging out._

She pursed her lips. Missing curfew a bit, _that_ they could get away with. But sharing a room for the night? If they emerged together, it'd be a nightmare. _No _sharing a room with the other gender, the rules said. Given how adults were, it would probably be more important to them than missing curfew.

But when she tried her key, it didn't work. Remembering how Betty had hugged her before she and Peter left, how MJ had thought she'd felt Betty's hand brush against her pocket, she tried it on Peter's door – and it worked. Quickly, they slipped inside and shut the door.

And there was MJ's suitcase. On the room's only bed.

"They planned this," MJ said, scowling.

"I- I'm sure they didn't…" Peter started half-heartedly.

_Oh, Peter, always trying to see the best in people. _"Remember those texts when we were planning this trip, about how one hotel room would only have one bed? And how quick Ned was to volunteer you guys for it?"

Peter bit his lip. "Right. They planned this. But we weren't even…"

"They probably had a plan to set us up if we hadn't done it ourselves. This might've _been_ that plan."

"Yeah…" Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I can take the floor."

MJ crossed her arms. "Peter, we can share the bed."

"But it's-" He gestured vaguely. "It's not the chivalrous thing to do."

MJ smiled, ducking her head to let her hair cover a brief blush. She'd never thought that a boy insisting on traditional chivalry would appeal to her, but Peter was just so _cute_ about it. Earnest, not irritating. "Peter, I don't need you to be chivalrous. This isn't some scandalous thing anymore."

"But I want to be," he pressed. "I'll sleep on the floor."

She sighed, looking back up at those adorably earnest eyes. "Fine. I'm gonna go change."

He nodded, turning to his suitcase, fidgeting with it more than actually getting out his pajamas while she was in the room. Only when she had scooped her things into her arms and shut the bathroom door behind her did she hear him unzip and open it. She shrugged it off, going about getting ready, before heading back out in the t-shirt and baggy sweats she wore to bed.

With his back to her, Peter was slipping on his shirt, and he hadn't closed his suitcase. Sitting on top of all of his stuff was a familiar outfit.

"Nice suit," she said casually, plopping down on the bed with her book.

He spun around, eyes widening in horror. "I- um- it's- it's a costume-"

MJ scoffed a little, opening it to where she'd left off. "Please, Peter, I've known for a while."

His shoulders slumped a little as he blinked in surprise. "Really?"

"You disappear and Spider-Man appears; you got mysteriously ripped overnight just before Spider-Man started swinging around the city; and you and Ned talk really, really loudly sometimes."

"Oh," Peter mumbled. "Has anyone else figured it out?"

"Nah, I throw them off if they start talking about it. And Flash is hopeless."

That made him laugh, and a spark of pride warmed MJ's heart. "How come you never said anything?"

She shrugged. "I figured it wasn't my business. But if we're going to date, I'd like to support you. And not be lied to every time you run off."

"That's fair."

"I thought so."

Peter sat on the edge of the bed and smiled. "Thanks for having my back all these years."

MJ just arched her eyebrow. "Peter, we're sharing a bed. Isn't that scandalous?"

He jumped up so fast and high he stuck to the ceiling, grinning down at her like an idiot. "My bad."

MJ chuckled, shaking her head. "Get down here, you dork."

Peter dropped, landing with easy grace. From then on, there was a difference in him, subtle but there. He was freer, more confident, like a weight had just lifted off his shoulders. With no need to be secretive, he pulled his suit out, spending some time checking it for tears and restocking his little capsules of web fluid. She pretended to read, but really, she was listening to him humming under his breath, watching him occasionally poke the tip of his tongue out as he cleaned off the web shooters.

For a few minutes, she couldn't help but be a soft romantic. Peter was cute, and attractive, and sweet, and New York's hero, and he had chosen her. This was the exact moment she had been waiting years for.

She gave herself a mental shake, focusing on finishing the chapter she was reading. When Peter finished with his suit, they agreed it was bedtime, so she set her book down, tossed Peter a pillow and blanket, and turned the light off as they exchanged good nights.

The only sound to be heard was Peter's constant shuffling.

Not even fifteen minutes went by before she spoke again. "Peter."

"MJ."

"Spider-Man has enhanced senses, right?"

"…Yes. Why?"

"Doesn't that mean a wooden floor would be immensely uncomfortable for him?"

"…Um. Maybe."

She sighed, sitting up and leaning over the bed to see him already tangled in the blanket, simultaneously using it as a soft layer beneath him and a warm layer above him. He smiled sheepishly up at her. "Peter, get in the bed."

"But-"

MJ's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Peter, if we became every romantic stereotype and couldn't handle the _unimaginable temptation_ of being _alone_ in a _bedroom_, we would've noticed by now. Get in the bed."

He grumbled a bit, but looked immensely relieved as he crawled into bed. It wasn't the world's most comfortable mattress, but he burrowed into it happily, immediately relaxing from the shuffling around on the floor. MJ shook her head in exasperation and rolled over.

With her back now to him, she obviously couldn't see him, but she could sense him, a steady presence behind her. Disgustingly sappy and cliché as the thought might be, it made her feel safe. Secure. Not alone, as she had so often felt growing up.

With his soft breaths as her soundtrack, she drifted off to sleep.

And the clock on the nightstand read 3:48 when she woke up.

The safe feeling was gone. Not because he was gone – she could still hear him right behind her. But his soft breaths had turned choppy, had become desperate, shaky inhales. MJ propped herself up on her elbow and twisted to look back at him. He had curled up tightly, defensively, his face buried in his arms, fists keeping a white-knuckled grip on the shredded sheets beneath him.

MJ hesitated. Would he appreciate being woken up? Would he be embarrassed? She knew she would be. But then, he was just about the polar opposite of her, wasn't he?

"Peter," she said. "Peter, wake up. Peter!"

He only pressed deeper into the mattress. She started to reach for him, then hesitated. What if he lashed out? She didn't want to make him feel worse by accidentally getting punched.

"Ben," he whimpered. "Ben!"

_Screw it._

She shook his shoulder. "Peter, wake up!"

He surged upright with a gasp. MJ ducked out of the way, leaving her hand on his shoulder as he settled. He hunched over, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Her usual scathing retort, something about how he should be sorry because she should be sleeping, rose to her lips, but it died before she could make a sound.

She avoided sappiness. Avoided showing it. All she had ever learned from it was that people took your softness and twisted and used it to their advantage, then abandoned you. Until Peter. In all the years she'd known him, even when he seemed to barely know she existed, he'd never used it against her. She could be as soft or coarse, as broken or strong as she wanted around him, and he always rolled with it, embracing her moods as no one had.

She didn't need to be sharp around him. She didn't need to squash down her soft, sappy thoughts. She never had. And right now, he didn't need that anyway.

So she dropped her voice to a gentle murmur she hadn't used in years. "Hey," she said, "it's ok."

Peter shook his head, swiping at the tears in his eyes. "No, you don't- you don't like dealing with this stuff."

MJ caught his hand, twining her fingers through his to stop his vigorous scrubbing. "Maybe not. But you make me want to try, because you have a good heart, Peter. It's super annoying."

(Completely. She didn't have to be _completely_ sharp with him. But she was still MJ.)

Despite the tears, he managed a single laugh. "You wouldn't have said yes to the date if you really thought that."

"Maybe not," she agreed lightly. Hesitantly, she reached up, carefully brushing a tear away. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his hold on her hand tightening a bit.

"How far does this go?" he whispered.

"As far as you need. I can't promise to help, but I'm here, Peter."

He opened his eyes to look at her, a smile gleaming through the tears. "You help, MJ. You help."

MJ smiled. Gently, she slid her hand up to slip into his soft curls, and slowly they sank back to the bed. He laid on his back while she rolled onto her side, keeping her hand in his hair while their intertwined hands rested on his chest.

"You were saying Ben," she murmured. "Your uncle?"

He shook his head. "No, this nightmare was about a kid."

"What happened to him?"

Peter took a deep, shaky breath, his eyes growing unfocused. "There was a hugepileup on a bridge a few months ago. Remember?"

MJ nodded.

"When I got there, there was so much noise. People screaming, car alarms screaming, emergency vehicles' sirens screaming. I had to tune it out, go on sight – I couldn't track people's heartbeats, and between all the gas and oil and fire, I couldn't smell them either. I was nearly blind.

"When I got to one car, its back wheels were hanging off the bridge – it was gonna fall, and soon. The woman up front, she was unconscious, and I couldn't see anyone in the back, so I pulled her out. And when I did, the car finally started to fall.

"That's when I saw him – the boy in the back, trapped in his seatbelt, white as a sheet and so terrified he might've been the only conscious person on that bridge not screaming. That's when the mom started to wake up, and she just kept saying his name – Ben. Over and over.

"I tried, MJ. I shot out a web, caught the car's windshield. But it was shattered from the crash, and it broke when it tried to support the car's weight. I used a second one, but it was too slow. The kid finally started to scream just before he hit the water. But it was too late. I had a choice, then – risk my life diving after him, one kid, or try to save everybody else on the bridge.

"I chose the second option. I left his mother there, concussed and screaming for her son. And when I overheard the paramedics later, they were saying that the kid could've made it. If only someone had pulled him out of the car."

"You can't blame yourself for that," MJ said firmly. "You saved, what, twenty lives that day?"

"Twenty-two," Peter mumbled. "Not that I read the articles or anything."

MJ gave his shoulder a light flick. "My point is, how many were after Ben fell?"

"Uh… Fifteen or so?"

"And how many of those fifteen would've died if you'd gone after Ben? One? Two? Five? All of them? You made the right choice, Peter."

Peter sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I know. I know that, I _do_ – May and Mr. Stark made sure I did – but that… I have that dream a lot, and it's- it's not always the kid who falls."

MJ furrowed her brows. "Is it you?"

"No. It's… sometimes it's you. Or Ned. Or May. Or Mr. Stark. I think… I think that dream has made me watch everyone I love fall."

"Why?"

"Because…" Peter bit his lip, turned his head away from her. "Because one day, it won't be a random boy. One day, it could be you falling, or Ned, or- or any of you. One of you against a crowd of random strangers. And if I have to make that decision…"

"Then you'll make the right one," MJ said, quiet but confident.

Peter pulled his hand free of hers and rolled over, putting his back to her. "You can't know that, MJ."

"You left Liz at the dance, didn't you?"

Peter winced. "I try not to remember that."

"But that was you doing the right thing. Choosing between having an amazing night with the girl you'd crushed on for years, and stopping her villainous dad and ruining the rest of her life. You were faced with an impossible choice, and you made the right decision. The world trusts Spider-Man to always do that. So do I."

"But what if Peter Parker takes over?" Peter whispered.

MJ shifted closer to drape her arm over him. "I happen to know that Peter Parker and Spider-Man are one and the same. If I trust one, I trust the other just as much."

"Really?"

"Really."

He deflated beneath her, as if a huge weight had just lifted off of him. "I've never told anyone about that side of the nightmare."

"And I haven't given a genuine pep talk like that in- maybe ever. Can I go back to sassing you?"

Peter chuckled, reaching down for the blanket. "Only if you keep snuggling tonight."

MJ smirked. "I dunno, Parker. Snuggling before marriage is _scandalous_, after all."

"Oh, shush," he grumbled good-naturedly.

MJ laughed and snuggled closer, finding his hand again and nestling against the back of his neck. He wriggled to get comfortable, until they fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces. He held her hand against his beating heart, and together they slipped into sleep.

-MCU-

"They should be awake by now!"

"I know, I know," Ned whispered. He quietly knocked on the door of what was supposed to be his and Peter's room, casting a furtive glance towards the chaperones' rooms. "Peter? Buddy? I know you can hear me."

Betty blinked at that, but he quickly waved a dismissive hand, his heart skipping a beat. _Whoops._

When Peter didn't respond after another knock, he used the key he'd borrowed from the night manager, pushing the door open. "Guys, come- …on."

His voice dropped quickly to a whisper as he saw them, fast asleep, curled up together and looking very much inseparable.

Betty's face lit up. "I _knew_ MJ was the big spoon!"

Ned's snorting laugh finally woke the sleeping couple.

And brought out the chaperones.

And MJ's fiercest glare.

_Whoops._


End file.
